The Storm
by remuslives23
Summary: A storm rages and hearts are broken. Slash fic. Boylove. Don't like, don't read. Rated for a brief mention of boy bits. :


_Be nice! Oh, and I think this is a fic meant to be read twice. See what you think._

_Thanks as always to the only woman I would consider turning gay for - **DragonDi.** Your reassurance, comments and swift Beta are the only reason this saw the light of day._

_Dedicated to **wrappedinharry**…for reasons that will be given at the end of the fic…_

_Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me…dammit. They remain the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros…who don't treat them half as nice as I do._

_Warning: Some sexual content._

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There was a storm raging outside; the smell of sulphur choking the air. Thunder made the front door of the shack shake in its frame and lightning flashed, refracting light off the beads of water the pounding rain left streaking down the cracked glass. The window panes rattled as the howling wind buffeted the ramshackle hut relentlessly, making it shake and groan under the attack of the elements.

Inside, the creaking and shuddering went unnoticed; the occupants creating their own raging tempest that put nature's performance to shame.

Loud ragged breathing fought the sound of the gusting wind for dominance, the desperate breaths winning as the men focused only on each other and their own whirling need and fierce desire. Murmured words of desire and encouragement were heard even over the storm as they were whispered into each others' ears. Dark hair contrasted starkly against pale skin, dragging over the flesh of a scarred chest as they moved sinuously, fluidly, together as one. The air, already dense and humid, was heady with the sharp scent of sex and desperation. Dark eyes sought cerulean blue as pleasure coiled, sweat beaded, breath hitched.

'Say my name,' the brunette demanded, his voice unusually harsh as he rode the turgid shaft of the lithe man under him. 'When you come, say my name.'

A groan from beneath him was his only answer and his head fell back, ebony hair cascading down the too-prominent spine as he concentrated on rolling his hips, taking the other man in long, smooth strokes that were swiftly driving them both to breaking point. He wanted to bring the man under him pleasure - pleasure that no one else could give him, and he wanted him know who it was that he was part of, to have _his _name on his lover's lips at the moment of ultimate surrender. Every time his body opened and stretched to accept the needy phallus, he prayed it would be enough.

That _he _would be enough.

The man with the scars arched up, body curving in an attempt to get deep, deep, _deeper _inside him and he reached down, twining his hands in that silky brown hair as he accepted what was offered - took every single inch, allowed the other man to use him to escape the troubles that awaited them.

He took the other man willingly: wanting to lose himself, needing to forget the past, to forget the future and concentrate only on this moment and this man and the blinding, white-hot bliss that was taking him over. A strong hand wrapped around his flushed, leaking shaft and stroked. The brunette whimpered as the other man's wrist snapped sharply over and over, a long, loud moan, issued from his own throat, filling his ears.

Pleasure coiled low in his belly, like a spring ready to snap and his smooth, measured motions became frenzied, his body bucking spastically as he reached for his release. With a practiced twist of his lover's wrist, the end arrived; the brunette screaming out his climax as the ball of tension inside him exploded. Hot ejaculate spilled over the hand that was still stroking him and the brunette whispered, '_Mine_' fiercely as he continued to rock his hips, drawing out every last spasm of pleasure.

The prone man swore loudly as his own body reached its peak and he threw his head back as he arced off the bed.

'Sirius!' he gasped, eyes rolling back in his head and the brunette swore he heard a crack come from within his suddenly tight and aching chest as the man's essence filled his body.

The noise of the still-raging storm broke into his consciousness and the suddenly cold wind that blew in through the cracks in the walls of the shack made him shiver. The tiny movement expelled the flaccid cock from his body and he knew it was well and truly over.

The brunette pushed himself off the smooth, but marked chest and stood up, pulling his dark robes on silently while the other man watched. He had tugged the last shoe on before the still-naked man spoke softly.

'I'm sorry, Severus.'

'So am I, Lupin.'

The reversion to the use of surnames shattered any intimacy that had been lingering between them and Lupin sat up, watching as the cold mask of indifference started to fall into place over the sharp-featured face of the man he'd been fucking for nearly a year now.

'I…I can't help it. I still love him.'

Severus knew. He knew the first night he fell into bed - too eagerly - with Lupin that the werewolf's body was on loan, that the other's heart had never belonged to him. He had dared to hope, the other man had, on occasion, given him reason to believe that perhaps…one day…

But that frail prayer had been crushed by the ever-present spectre of the man who _did_ hold sway over Remus Lupin's heart.

Sirius Black.

Severus shook his head.

He was a fool.

He should not have allowed himself to dream…

'Severus…'

The gale outside had nothing on the vortex of pain that was gaining intensity inside of Severus and he knew that he could not bear this agony again; that he had laid his fragile heart on the line for the last time. Hardening his hurting heart, he schooled his face into the disdainful mask he'd spent years perfecting before turning to face the man who had crushed every last one of his hopes for peace, for redemption.

'Good bye, Lupin.'

With a whirl of his robes, he was stalking across the room, ignoring the other man's final call to him as he stepped out into the rushing, howling wind that snatched the very breath from his lungs. Only then did he allow himself one moment of weakness, one moment where his pain and his hurt bent him double with their force, one moment where he allowed himself to feel…before he drew breath again, straightened and, with mask firmly in place, stepped out into the tempest.

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_Ok, Lesley…this is a guilt one shot because I still haven't made much movement on your chapter fic. Hope it tides you over until I pull my finger out and get to work._


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